Coming out of the Marquee Club after
one of our Sunday jazz sessions I saw Bill Russo standing by the door
talking to Tony Russell. I knew Billís face because he had been one
of the trombone players in the Stan Kenton band when they visited Dublin.
He had also been responsible for most of Kentonís arrangements at the
time, including the stunning Fascinating Rhythm, which musicians still
talk about to this day.

Bill had come to London under a
Koussevitsky Grant and was looking for musicians to start a London Jazz
Orchestra. I said that he couldnít think of doing such a thing without
having me in the band. He agreed at once, and just having heard the
Dankworth band he also asked several of the other guys to come along
as well. So we had Kenny Wheeler, Leon Calvert, Tony Russell and Art
Ellefson there right from the beginning.

I think itís worth giving the line-up
of the London Jazz Orchestra here, because although Iíve frequently
damned the British big bands as never attaining the musical perfection
of their American counterparts, this orchestra was the one and only
exception. Listening to the recordings and BBC tapes today, thirty years
later, it is clear that Bill Russoís music brought performances from
the musicians of a standard and quality never demanded by any other
arranger or bandleader in the country.

Obviously, the British musician
had much more to offer than was generally demanded of him, and he was
quickly adaptable, because Russoís music had to be played in a quite
unusual way, and Bill was pedantic on this. Style of phrasing, length
of notes and dynamics were all carefully detailed and discussed. Some
of the music had been specially written as a means of learning these
innovations, including an ingenious composition by Bill that helped
everyone to get absolutely in tune.

The four trumpets, five trombones
and five saxes were divided into two separate units, with, facing the
orchestra, the lead instruments over on the left. The rhythm section
sat in the centre. As recording was done on two microphones only the
internal balance had to be perfect, and it was, absolutely. Kenny Clare,
in particular, sitting right in the middle of us, with no screens, had
to take it very easy.

The rehearsals, recordings and BBC
tapes were all made in the Lansdowne Studios in Ladbroke Grove. Richard
Peaslee, Johnny Scott and Tony Russell wrote some brilliant scores for
the orchestra which were also recorded. The saxophones in all of the
works we performed were particularly outstanding. Sadly Jack Thirlwall,
Ronnie Ross, Arthur Watts and Kenny Clare are no longer with us as I
write this. The recordings are a lasting tribute to their perfection.

It wasnít swinging music as we knew
it, ŗ la Basie or Herman, but I learned a lot about the American way
of playing from Bill, which I put to good use in all the other work
I was doing. I became very friendly with him, and used to run him home
to Kensington after the rehearsals, which ran from eleven at night until
three in the morning on Monday nights. This was the only time that we
could all guarantee being free from studio obligations.

Back in his apartment weíd eat supper
and talk about music. This was a thrilling experience for me, and I
got all kinds of information about the Kenton band out of him. Apparently
that band almost had to fold several times because of the trouble some
of the wives were making. It sounded like the script for Glenn Millerís
Orchestra Wives, only much, much worse.

Bob Burgess, who was on lead trombone
with Kenton at the time, confirmed this to me many years later. He also
said that the guys in the Kenton band hadnít liked Billís arrangements
too much. They all wanted to play swinging stuff like Woody Herman.
But the records Kenton made with Billís scores sold more copies than
anything else Stan or Woody ever turned out.

Bill was quite strict on discipline
in the London Jazz Orchestra, and even fired a couple of the guys for
being late, even though we werenít getting paid for it. He used to wear
a huge 1920ís gangster hat, the kind George Raft wore in Some Like it
Hot. In keeping with the dignified air of the proceedings the recordings
were titled: William Russo conducts the London Jazz Orchestra,
with an added Leader, Ron Simmonds, which I thought was a hell of a
compliment.

The only time I invited Bill and
his wife Jeremy around to my new house in Bushey Heath I fell asleep
immediately after dinner, and slept right through until it was time
for them to leave some three hours later.

I wasnít the only one doing this,
because other musicians would come to dinner at my place and they would
fall asleep afterwards, notably the trumpet player Alan Franks, who
used to snore like a motor mower.

We recorded Billís opera John Hooten
before I left for Germany, and he got Annie Ross over from the States
to sing on it. Later on he wrote his English Concerto, and I came back
from Munich to play on that one. It was a violin concerto, written primarily
for Yehudi Menuhin.

When I turned up at the studios
in Ladbroke Grove there were dozens of classical violinists hanging
around outside. I recognised some of them. They said they were waiting
to hear Stevyn Staryk. Once inside the studio Bill told me that Menuhin
hadnít been able to handle the concerto, and had messed about playing
snatches of Yankee Doodle, seeming to regard the whole thing as a joke.
But the music was very difficult for everyone, having been written with
an unusual time sequence which had probably thrown him.

Bill had coaxed Steve away from
his job as leader of the Chicago Symphony orchestra to make this recording.
They were pals, and Steve was also regarded as one of the leading violinists
in the world. Of course he played the concerto superbly.

I was playing a lot of sessions
in those days, studio work with the cream of the London musicians. Some
of them complained to me about my new method of phrasing. What I was
really doing was to apply what I was learning from Bill in my daily
work. I was now playing the American style of phrasing and to most of
them it was entirely new. Only the ones who were learning alongside
me in the Russo orchestra: Don Lusher, Johnny Edwards, Bobby Lamb and
some of the sax players, knew what I was doing. But I persevered, and
most of the guys who were complaining soon managed to figure out the
hows and the whys. But, for a while, Bill Russo received quite a few
curses behind his back, because we were making the British musician
sit up and pay attention.

Today quite a lot of people with
whom I worked in the past tell me that I always played more like an
American lead player than anything else. I like to think that my time
with Bill helped me along in that direction, although my avid listening
to American bands on record, and the influence of some of the people
I worked alongside had also rubbed off on me by then. I had been immensely
impressed with the way Tommy McQuater played, for instance, and by the
sound produced by Bert Courtley - for me that was the ideal American
trumpet sound. Bert used to project the notes from his horn - they virtually
sizzled out! I really admired that. And Jimmy Deuchar. What a player
that man was! I was listening all the time and I garnered a little from
each of them.